


Blood Bonded

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, F/M, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mutually beneficial, and mutually exclusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Bonded

**Author's Note:**

> Best paired with [Honest by The Neighbourhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqXjt5WFPgc).

Long stripes of blood run down her arm, turn and drop off at the elbow. She wipes a hand over them, leaving only the dried outline. “Oh, Vance, you’re a lifesaver! I was just debating buying bandages from a vampire while I have a visible, open wound, or ripping another piece off my vault suit, and I’m starting to run out of suit, y’know?”

Vance crosses the threshold, and closes the door behind him. The meditation room is tucked away, secluded for quiet. He leaves the bandages on the mattress with her jacket, freshly torn in the sleeve. “I hope you were not injured by the traps.”

The Lone Wanderer leans around the bathroom doorframe. “Nah, just a mirelurk.”

She rinses her hand in the sink and scrubs off what’s dried. One slash is contained to her deltoid, the other- longer, deeper, the bigger claw- travels around the back. She has trouble reaching it, has to use the cracked mirror just to see.

“Would you like assistance?” he volunteers, venturing closer.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you okay for that?”

“I know my limits.” Vance puts a hand to her shoulder- the uninjured one- and maneuvers her out of the way so he can wash his hands. Soap chases the pink tinge of her blood down the drain. After shaking them dry, Vance puts a finger on either side of the deeper cut, and spreads slightly. A fresh runnel trickles down her back, and she tenses, but doesn’t make a sound. “I don’t see any fat.”

“Doesn’t need stitches, I know.”

He gathers up the blood on his fingers before it can run under her sports bra, and turns on the faucet. Vance stands for a moment, just staring at the blood and the water, and not bringing those two any closer together. One drip falls into the basin. She’s not looking.

He runs his tongue along one of the fingers, then the other, and dips them both into his mouth. It’s still warm. He rinses quickly, and swipes his thumb in the space between the cuts, marvelling at the burgundy smudge it leaves behind. What’s even more interesting is the wax-seal dab on the pad of his finger.

“Still doin’ okay?” she pipes up.

Vance tucks him thumb into a fist. “I should return the question to you, the one bearing the injury.”

She looks over her shoulder and says, “I’m asking because you’ve got blood on your lip.”

He swallows what’s left diluted in his mouth, but Erin shrugs. “Hey, I don’t have much of a use for it once it leaves my body.”

There’s trust in the way she closes her eyes before turning, and it’s that kind of vulnerability, the streaks on her shoulder, the copper thick in his nostrils that drives him to  speak. “Would you mind terribly if I-”

“You... know your limits.” When she looks up, it’s only slightly, and briefly. “I don’t have many.”

Vance’s eyes wander to the glistening fluid streaking her skin, rubs a thumb over it. Red blooms after it, shade of the sunset. When he flattens his tongue to her scapula, she barely flinches.

“I won’t hurt you.” he breathes, and her skin pricks up in gooseflesh where it isn’t cut.

Slowly, “...I didn’t think you would.”

His tongue dips into the smaller cut, gently clears the debris.

“Your mouth can’t be dirtier than a mirelurk, right? Actually, you’re a smoker. Don’t answer that.” She grips the rim of the sink, and ducks her head. “I’ve gotta disinfect it, anyway...”

She’s wobbling, so Vance turns her fully to the sink. Erin’s soon slack from the waist up, head in the crook of her elbow next to the faucet. She’s vault-pale; there’s no colour to drain from her face, no way to know. “Do you feel faint?”

She lifts her head, and looks into the mirror. When Vance mimics, there’s blood on his chin. “Will your wife mind?”

His brows go up, and settle. “That’s... not what I was expecting.” he admits, then wets his lips, clears some of the blood in his reflection. “No. She won’t.”

The Wanderer looks over her shoulder. “...You know your limits.” she assents.

Vance turns on the water and swishes his hand under before spreading it on the slashes- to clean it out, to loosen what’s dried. To keep the cuts from closing. “I wouldn’t consider this akin to infidelity.”

“And Holly won’t because you don’t?”

“She trusts my judgement.”

Erin’s quiet as he fits his mouth over the wound. “...You’re trustworthy.”


End file.
